After an unforgettable afternoon at the Moorish Castle, I savor every moment of descending into Stirna downtown. With vistas of the Stirna plains extending all the way to the ocean, the doors and windows and the walls of buildings and churches that stood against time through centuries some millennia...
The façade of a beautiful architecture, despite its age, elegance is still there
When I get to the central square, I find a tiny corner bar with outdoors seating. I love the wooden stool I perch on with the sense of safety my back that touches the wall of the bar emanates. Right across from the bar is a group of three young men and a woman along with an elderly man. They are sitting under a tree and on the cobble stoned square floor carelessly... All seem to be off the rat race with a hippie-ish touch including the older man. One of them is playing a very long blow-instrument that makes a sound much bolder than that of an oboe. However, as, who turns out to be Scott plays the instrument, it almost sounds like a small orchestra is playing. I am so intrigued with the instrument, I can’t wait to finish my delicious Vinho Verde to approach them to learn more about them and this instrument.
Sintra square hosting an ad hoc street band
I learn the names of two of the musicians: The instrument Scott is playing is called “didjeridoo”. Its origins go back to Australian Aboriginals. Scott explains to me that the indigenous Australians let termites eat through the pulp of this particular tree, then “burn” it so that the hollow lumen becomes smooth. Finally, they attach three pieces of different caliber in this telescope style. Scott, moves these pieces to set the key, and blows into the pipe to create the harmonious sounds I have been enjoying. “Who travels not who reads more knows more ” is very apt for this situation!
Away from tourist eyes, the other Sintra
The façade of a beautiful architecture, despite its age, elegance is still there
When I get to the central square, I find a tiny corner bar with outdoors seating. I love the wooden stool I perch on with the sense of safety my back that touches the wall of the bar emanates. Right across from the bar is a group of three young men and a woman along with an elderly man. They are sitting under a tree and on the cobble stoned square floor carelessly... All seem to be off the rat race with a hippie-ish touch including the older man. One of them is playing a very long blow-instrument that makes a sound much bolder than that of an oboe. However, as, who turns out to be Scott plays the instrument, it almost sounds like a small orchestra is playing. I am so intrigued with the instrument, I can’t wait to finish my delicious Vinho Verde to approach them to learn more about them and this instrument.
I learn the names of two of the musicians: The instrument Scott is playing is called “didjeridoo”. Its origins go back to Australian Aboriginals. Scott explains to me that the indigenous Australians let termites eat through the pulp of this particular tree, then “burn” it so that the hollow lumen becomes smooth. Finally, they attach three pieces of different caliber in this telescope style. Scott, moves these pieces to set the key, and blows into the pipe to create the harmonious sounds I have been enjoying. “Who travels not who reads more knows more ” is very apt for this situation!
Alejandro playing a lovely tune on his accordion
Alejandro, who is from France plays the accordion, I enjoy his music for a while when Scott is resting. The only female in the group is also from France, but I miss her name. Alex is from Portugal and is just hanging out just like the female. I watch her rolling a cigarette with what seems to be tobacco out of a pouch. I hope it was just tobacco. Had my daughter been here, I know she would have found her seat next to them with her drum. My coins join the rest of theirs they have been collecting in the didjeridoo case as I wish them all well on my way back to the train station.
Alex and the French beauty hanging out This time I
take a different route, which gives me a glimpse of what this town looks like
behind the façade trimmed well for the eyes of the tourists. On the off-the-beaten-path
streets of town, I see multiple old mansions that are falling apart, windows
and doors broken, exterior deteriorating, roofs in shambles… I hope they preserve
these once must-have-been lovely buildings. As I walk through more modest
neighborhood streets I come across working class people fixing up more modest
homes on streets of the maze of Sintra.
Alejandro, who is from France plays the accordion, I enjoy his music for a while when Scott is resting. The only female in the group is also from France, but I miss her name. Alex is from Portugal and is just hanging out just like the female. I watch her rolling a cigarette with what seems to be tobacco out of a pouch. I hope it was just tobacco. Had my daughter been here, I know she would have found her seat next to them with her drum. My coins join the rest of theirs they have been collecting in the didjeridoo case as I wish them all well on my way back to the train station.
Alex and the French beauty hanging out This time I
take a different route, which gives me a glimpse of what this town looks like
behind the façade trimmed well for the eyes of the tourists. On the off-the-beaten-path
streets of town, I see multiple old mansions that are falling apart, windows
and doors broken, exterior deteriorating, roofs in shambles… I hope they preserve
these once must-have-been lovely buildings. As I walk through more modest
neighborhood streets I come across working class people fixing up more modest
homes on streets of the maze of Sintra. 
Finally I find myself on a street behind the train
station, where I get a huge mango and citrus for the duration of my stay in
Portugal since I cannot survive without fruit. Citrus fruit turns out to be the
most delicious and juicy I have had for a long long time. When I am back on the
train, I feel a serene fulfillment of visiting history, connecting with people,
learning more about Portuguese culture. Although initially, I was planning to
go to a Fado place in the evening, I decide against it as I approach Lisbon. I
would like to savor the day instead, and leave Fado to my next visit following
a very wise friend’s recommendation: Always leave something unexplored to come back to...
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| I might come back to visit the National Palace in Sintra |
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